


Beginner's Luck

by defyinggravitee



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Casino AU, Frottage, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, M/M, Poker, Slightly drunk sex, Spanking, Strangers, i have no idea how hooking up with a stranger works tbh, there's so much speculation in this fic that it would be inadmissible in court
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 13:22:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9273656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/defyinggravitee/pseuds/defyinggravitee
Summary: "I'd like to kiss you again," Carlos says."Please do," Cecil replies, and then Carlos' mouth is on his, and the rush of kissing him, long and deep and full of urgency, is more intoxicating than any cocktail, more exhilarating than any blackjack win. Who but Cecil would have guessed that the best prize at the table was the dealer himself?





	

**Author's Note:**

> My father took me to a casino for the first time recently. It reminded me of Night Vale for about a million reasons (time doesn't exist, open acknowledgement of constant surveillance, mysterious flashing lights, etc., etc.) Also learned that I find professional blackjack dealing surprisingly sexy. Who knew? Anyway, please enjoy the Cecilos casino AU the world never needed but I decided to write anyway.

Cecil has never played blackjack. 

He's been to casinos before, always with Josie, who had taken great delight in teaching him how to play slots shortly after his 21st birthday. She'd signed him up for a casino membership card immediately, and soon it became a sort of ritual for them. Every Friday night that wasn't league night, they went to the casino and played slots together, Cecil getting just a little too drunk on vodka cranberries and Josie managing to be the life of the party despite drinking nothing but Shirley Temples all night.

Cecil is fascinated by the dazzling lights and odd people who occupy casinos: a father of four who guzzled a steady stream of light beer for hours on end while his children–what? did homework? Slept? Went to soccer practice?; elderly women with brightly dyed hair and bedazzled track suits who said things like "come to mama!" when they pulled the glowing handles of slot machines; tired couples in worn jeans who didn't appear to be enjoying themselves but played card games like it was their duty to do so; and once, a baby-faced young man who kept jokingly asking where the ski ball machines were and whose mother, who was striding through the casino with purpose, did not seem amused by this. 

Cecil wonders, too, about the lives of the casino employees. He talks to them sometimes, when he's running low on cash while Josie is still eagerly pushing buttons and downing her fourth or fifth Shirley Temple. A young woman named Alyssa is serving drinks to help pay her college tuition, Cecil learns, and while she loves interacting with people, she wishes men would stop making lewd comments about her. Tito, the man who checks IDs at the front entrance, served prison time for grand theft auto but turned his life around and is now deeply devoted to his two Maine Coons and his newfound hobby of knitting. Marcos, the bartender, has no interest in answering personal questions, so Cecil drops a tip in the jar and leaves him alone.

The most fascinating person in the casino, though, is their newest employee, a blackjack dealer who, Cecil learns by grabbing Alyssa by the arm, almost knocking over the full tray of drinks she's carrying and earning himself a scolding, is named Carlos. He has perfect hair and teeth like a military cemetery and, Alyssa reports once Cecil apologizes and buys her an order of cheese fries, he's the best blackjack dealer the casino has ever seen. 

"He's some kind of math genius," Alyssa says. "Deals cards like lightning and can calculate the statistical probability of winning a hand in his head before the rest of the table can even process what card he's flipped over."

Cecil takes to circling around the card tables, ostensibly checking out the slot machines on that side of the room but really just watching Carlos work, his hands moving swiftly and accurately over the velvet-topped table and stacks of white cards, almost like a stage magician. It's hypnotizing. Sometimes, he calls out that he's changing chips into cash or the reverse, and Cecil is treated to the sound of warm, oaky tones from the handsome card dealer. 

"Why don't you just go over there?" Josie says after the fourth time he does this. "Just sit down at the table. Nothing's stopping you."

"I have no idea how to play blackjack," he says. 

"Oh, it's easy. I'll show you."

And with that, Josie marches off toward the table with her hand on Cecil's elbow, and he has no choice but to follow her. 

Josie shoves Cecil into an empty seat at Carlos' table and slams two twenty dollar bills on the table.

"Changing 40 to chips!" Carlos calls out, and the sound of his voice is even more perfect up close, and Cecil is dreamy-eyed and unfocused until Carlos drops a stack of red chips in front of him.

"Put two of those in the circle in front of you," Josie says, and Cecil obeys. 

Then cards start to appear in front of the players so quickly that it almost seems as though they're moving of their own accord. Suddenly Cecil has a five of clubs and a two of hearts in front of him, and the players to his right are making hand gestures and having more cards flipped over in front of them and Carlos is moving down the line and oh God, it's going to be his turn soon, he has no idea what he's doing, all he knows about this game is that he's supposed to as close as he can to 21 without going over, like on _The Price is Right_ , and he's starting to think coming over here was a terrible, doomed mistake when Josie speaks up. 

"Your hand sucks."

"What do I do?" He tries to conceal the panic in his voice and fails. 

"Hit."

"What?"

"Tap the table."

And there Carlos is, eyes on Cecil, and his heart doesn't so much skip a beat as javelin over several, and Cecil taps the table, and Carlos flips over a jack. 

"Now do this," Josie says, and she waves her hand horizontally toward Carlos. Cecil imitates the motion, and Carlos moves on. 

Then it's Carlos' turn to flip over one of his cards. He does this by flicking the edge of the facedown card with the face up card. Cecil suppresses an impressed whistle. Now Carlos has a nine and a three. He flips another card—a two—and then he flips over a queen and everyone cheers. 

"What just happened?" Cecil asks. 

"Dealer busted. Everyone wins."

Cecil gets two more chips. He adds them tentatively to his pile and leaves the other two in the circle. Before he finishes, another hand is being dealt. Cecil gets a ten, and then an ace. 

"Blackjack!" Josie cries. 

"That's good?"

"Yes, honey, that's good."

The game continues, and Cecil begins to understand the rules. The dealer gets one card up, one card down. Everyone at the table gets two cards facing up. The goal is to get closer to 21 than the dealer without going over or "busting," and he is supposed to assume the dealer has a 10 facing down because statistics.

He could hit, or get another card, by tapping the table, or stay, keep the hand he had, by waving his hand toward Carlos. He could also do something called doubling down or something else called splitting, and he isn't exactly sure what those are but at one point Josie advises him to split a pair of eights.

"How?" he says.

"Put down two more chips and go like this." Josie holds her hand horizontally, first two fingers extended like she's showing the number two.

Cecil reasons that this means he needs to separate his cards—it's called splitting, after all—but when he does this, Carlos speaks immediately.

"Don't touch the cards."

Cecil pulls his hand back sharply. "Sorry."

Cecil has extraordinary luck. He gets nearly half a dozen blackjacks in twenty minutes, which is a lot, apparently. Soon his little stack of chips has become a large stack of chips, and the other players at the table begin chatting with him.

"You're good luck, kid," says a grey-haired man on his left, who is smoking a cigarette and drinking something the color of mud. "You better stick around a while." His tone implies that he might be hitting on Cecil, but Cecil chooses to ignore this.

Cecil is mesmerized by the game. The speed at which it moves, the rush of winning and disappointment of losing, the remarkable way Carlos is able to add up cards instantaneously (aces paired with anything but tens and face cards confuse Cecil because they can be either elevens or ones, but Carlos always feeds him his numbers—"five or fifteen, eight or eighteen"—and Cecil is grateful). They build up a fragile rapport, Cecil and Carlos and the other players, and Josie coaching him over his shoulder.

"Give us a seven, Carlos," calls one of the players, a woman with wild red hair seated on Cecil's right, when Carlos' hand is a four and a six. He has to draw a new card if he has sixteen or less, Cecil has learned, and with the hands on the table everyone will win if Carlos draws a seven.

"I'll do my best," Carlos answers, before flipping over an ace.

Everyone groans. "That's just mean, Carlos," Josie says.

"Sorry." Carlos grins sheepishly, and Cecil swoons a bit inside.

Carlos curries or loses favor based on the cards. When the players are doing well, they give him praise. When he wins, they boo and razz him. Carlos, though, is unbothered by all this, responding to the compliments and teasing with equal charm. Cecil is seated directly across from him, and more than once they make accidental eye contact. Each time Cecil flashes him a little smile, which Carlos returns, before they look away.

One by one, the other players cash in and peel off to pursue other activities or return home, until it is only Cecil and Carlos at the table.

"Well, I'm going back to the slots," Josie says, and pats Cecil on the shoulder. "I think you can manage without me now."

Cecil almost tells her not to go, that he can't possibly handle being alone with Carlos, but then she is gone, and Carlos is busy gathering up the cards into a single block.

"Cut the deck," Carlos says, and Cecil stares blankly.

"Um."

"Take the red card and put it somewhere in the deck."

"Anywhere?"

"Anywhere."

Cecil picks up the red card and attempts to shove it in about halfway through the deck.

"Easy," Carlos says. "Doesn't have to go all the way in."

"Sorry. I'm just excited. First time and all."

Carlos smiles. "I can tell."

Cecil watches, fascinated, as Carlos shuffles. 

"That's so impressive," he says, half-regretting the words as they come out of his mouth.

"What is?"

"I don't know. Everything. The cards, the shuffling, the…math."

Carlos grins again, and it's like sunlight after rain. "I'm not a wizard, kid. Just a blackjack dealer."

"Hey, you're not much older than I am," Cecil protests.

"True," Carlos concedes. "But that's what everyone's been calling you. What's your name?"

"Cecil."

"Cecil. You don't meet many Cecils. It's a nice name."

"Thank you."

Carlos deals him a hand, and they keep playing as they talk. This requires an awful lot of concentration on Cecil's part, and he can feel his own stress as tension in his body, but any amount of stress is worth it if it means he can remain the sole subject of Carlos' attentions.

"Time's weird here, huh?" Carlos says casually. "No clocks, identical lighting all day long. Almost like time doesn't exist at all."

"Time is weird everywhere," Cecil replies. 

Carlos chuckles. "Good point."

They play another hand in silence. They tie. 

"So what do you do for a living, Cecil?"

"I'm a radio host," Cecil says. "Local station."

"You've got a voice for radio."

"That's what they tell me."

"I could listen to you talk all day." Carlos bites his lip and looks down at the table, ostensibly to deal cards, but even in the dim lighting Cecil can see pink creeping into his cheeks. Something about this moment of vulnerability makes Cecil feel brave.

"Is it true you can calculate all the probabilities of winning in your head?"

Carlos smiles, closed-lipped. "Sure can. Wanna see?"

Cecil nods enthusiastically.

Carlos deals Cecil two cards, a three and a five. His card is a queen.

"If you hit, there's a 75.05% chance you'll win," Carlos says. "If you stay, it's 45.9%."

"I'll hit, then."

"Good choice."

Cecil gets a jack, and Carlos flips a six and draws an eight, so Cecil wins.

"Now the numbers change," Carlos says. "We're no longer deal with eight full decks. We're down a three, a five, a queen, a jack, a six, and an eight."

"You can't possibly account for that."

Carlos smirks. "Watch me."

He deals Cecil a 5 and a queen and himself an ace. 

"With a full deck, you'd have a 49.12% chance of winning if you hit, 40.14% if you stand. Accounting for the missing cards, it adjusts to 48.78% if you hit, 40.16% if you stay."

"Not much of a difference." Cecil hits. He gets a nine and busts.

Carlos collects his chips. "Not now it isn't. But as the game goes on, the number of cards left affects the odds much more."

"And you keep track of that all the time?" Cecil says.

"Usually when I'm working I don't bother, but when I'm by myself I sometimes play through entire decks just to learn how the probabilities change."

"Wow," Cecil says, breathless.

Carlos is smiling as he deals another hand. "People aren't usually this impressed by me."

"Well, they should be," Cecil says. "You're very impressive."

"And you're very cute."

Cecil blinks, and although he should be deciding whether to take a card or not, his brain seems to have short-circuited. 

"Sorry," Carlos says, and he doesn't look up from the cards. "I don't usually flirt with customers."

"That's all right," Cecil says. "I don't usually gamble on card games I don't know just because the dealer's good-looking."

They make eye contact, and about two seconds that feel like half a lifetime pass.

"You got great odds there," Carlos says.

"With the cards or with you?" Cecil can hardly believe his own boldness.

Carlos smiles shyly. "Both."

Cecil stays, and he wins the hand.

"I'm off at midnight," Carlos says. "And I get deep discounts on the rooms upstairs. If you wanted to…continue this conversation."

Cecil checks his watch. It's 11:53.

"Okay! Yeah. That would be neat!"

Cecil wants to throw himself off a cliff. _Neat?_ A sexy card dealer propositions him and he says _neat_?

Carlos, though, smiles. "Neat indeed."

At that, another player sits down, a middle-aged woman with bleached blond hair. She puts a hundred on the table, and Carlos changes it out for her, and all Cecil can do is watch his hands, his quick, talented hands, and he can't help but think about how they might feel on his body—his face, his chest, his ass. He's half-hard already.

He plays a few hands with the strange woman at the table, and he wins most of them. 

"You're getting lucky tonight, huh?" the woman says, commenting on his success.

"I certainly hope so," Cecil says, looking at Carlos, and the implication is not lost on the dealer, who smirks just the tiniest bit.

At a minute to midnight, another dealer appears next to Carlos.

"This is Yolanda," Carlos says. "She'll take care of you." Carlos and Yolanda switch places.

"Changing dealers is bad luck," the other player says to Cecil. "Maybe your fortunes are going south, sweetheart."

"Oh, uh, I'm finished, actually."

Yolanda changes Cecil's chips for larger ones, and he's surprised when he realizes he has over $300. He has to go to a separate counter to change them back to cash, and Josie is at a slot machine nearby, and Carlos is standing a few feet from the table, and Cecil doesn't quite know what to do with himself.

"I, um," he starts.

"Go cash out," Carlos says. "I'll wait for you at the bar."

Cecil waits in line to get his chips exchanged, heart pounding. Cute Carlos had asked him upstairs. Cute Carlos had indicated interest in him. Cute Carlos had indicated sexual interest in him. Cecil's head is spinning, and not just because of his blackjack victories.

The woman behind the counter gives him his money, and Cecil tucks it into his wallet before walking over to Josie.  
"Hey," he says. "I, uh. I won't be needing a ride home."

"Got lucky with the hot dealer, huh?" Josie says, pulling down a glowing handle to spin her machine. "Good. You need to get laid."

"Never change, Josie," Cecil says, and he kisses her on the cheek. 

"Have fun tonight," she answers, and Cecil heads towards the bar.

"Hey," he says awkwardly when he sees Carlos.

"Hey," he says, then brandishes a room key. "Shall we?"

They wait for an elevator together, and when it arrives, Carlos pushes the button for the sixth floor. They're the only ones in the car, and when the doors shut, Carlos wraps an arm around his waist, pulls him close, and kisses him, a kiss that is warm and gentle but promises more heated things to come. The doors open, and they pull apart. Cecil feels weak in the knees.

"Sorry," Carlos says, grinning. "It's just that I've been dying to do that all night."

"You and me both," Cecil answers, and they walk out of the elevator, Carlos' hand still on his waist. He lets Carlos lead him to a room at the end of the hall and swipe the key to let them in.

The room is a decent size, with unremarkable white walls and a faux bamboo headboard over a king-sized bed. A door leads off into a bathroom. Dark red curtains cover a large window on the far side of the room. 

"Should we, um…?" Cecil indicates the bed.

"Uh, yeah. Yes."

Carlos takes his hand off Cecil's waist, and they sit together at the foot of the bed, both of them feeling shy at the sudden reality of the bedroom.

Carlos puts his hand on Cecil's knee and begins stroking it with his thumb. Cecil shivers just a tiny bit.

"I'd like to kiss you again," Carlos says.

"Please do," Cecil replies, and then Carlos' mouth is on his, and the rush of kissing him, long and deep and full of urgency, is more intoxicating than any cocktail, more exhilarating than any blackjack win. Who but Cecil would have guessed that the best prize at the table was the dealer himself?

When they finally break apart for air, all sense of hesitation or nervousness is gone. "Can I take this off?" Carlos asks, tugging at Cecil's shirtsleeve.

"Take it all off," Cecil replies, too turned on to be embarrassed by his own eagerness.

They both stand, and Carlos undresses him with the same swift precision with which he dealt cards. Cecil fumbles with Carlos' shirt buttons for a moment before Carlos gently removes his hands and undresses himself completely. Cecil marvels at the gorgeous man before him. He was handsome enough in the long-sleeved, collared black shirt and crisp black dress pants of the casino's uniform, but out of it, he's practically a work of art, all broad shoulders and muscled arms and dark hair leading to places Cecil is quite eager to touch. 

The feeling of shyness begins to creep into the room again, but Cecil doesn't want it there, so he steps forward and puts his hands on Carlos' shoulders, then leans in to suck on his earlobe. Carlos groans and grabs Cecil's ass, pulling him closer, and it is exactly as hot as Cecil dreamed it would be and then some.

Cecil moves his mouth down to Carlos' neck and begins to trace his tongue up and down the length of it until he finds a spot that makes Carlos' breath hitch, and then he presses his tongue in deeper until the hitch becomes a moan. Carlos' moan resonates like a low note on a cello played perfectly in tune, the whole body of the instrument vibrating in perfect waves. Cecil wants to hear that moan again and again, to search Carlos' entire body for every spot that will produce that sound and listen to the symphony of his pleasure until the sun comes up or it's time to check out of their room.

One of Cecil's hands finds its way into Carlos' thick, gorgeous hair and Carlos, breathless, murmurs, "pull." 

Cecil takes his mouth off Carlos' neck. "What?" he says into his collarbone.

"Pull my hair. I mean, if you want to. You don't have—"

Carlos' words turn into a gasp as Cecil's fingers tighten into a fist around his dark locks.

"Like that?"

"Exactly like that."

Cecil continues to lick and suck at Carlos' throat, occasionally yanking at his hair and listening to the obscene sounds he makes when Cecil does so. Both of them are hard by now, cocks pressed up against each other just enough to be tantalizing without offering any genuine satisfaction.

After several minutes of this, Carlos speaks again. "I'm gonna be covered in hickeys tomorrow."

"Good."

"I have to work tomorrow night. And that collar doesn't hide much."

"Good." Cecil grins.

Carlos runs a hand down Cecil's back. "Let me suck your cock," he whispers.

"Yes," Cecil breathes.

Carlos pushes him up against the wall roughly, but without hurting him. This is a calculated move, Cecil suspects, made to feel organic, and it makes him flush with arousal almost as much as the sight of Carlos dropping to his knees in front of him. Carlos flashes a smile.

"You know, I don't think I've ever smiled as much during a shift as I did with you tonight," Carlos says, running his hands up and down the outside of Cecil's thighs. "You're very charming, you know that?"

Cecil opens his mouth to reply, but the words dissolve into incoherent groans as Carlos takes him into his mouth. 

Blackjack is not the only thing Carlos is skilled at. He finds all Cecil's sweet spots in a manner of minutes and lavishes attention on them, only to pull away and lightly mouth at the head until Cecil is desperate for more. And then, just as he's about to start begging, Carlos is back to pressing his tongue along the underside of his cock, sucking with just the right amount of intensity, and making Cecil's knees all but collapse under him. It's enough to drive him crazy, but he never wants it to stop, wants to stay in this hotel room forever with this beautiful man sucking his dick.

Carlos starts pumping his fist around Cecil's cock and sucking the head at the same time, and Cecil is about to lose it, and he says so. "Carlos, I'm going to come."

Carlos pulls off. "Do you want to…?"

"I don't—no. I'm not done with you yet." Cecil isn't entirely sure what that means, but Carlos seems to understand.

"Bed," Carlos says, and it's somewhere between a question and a statement. He stands and kisses Cecil, and he tastes like cock, which would be unpleasant under different circumstances, but now just feels unexpectedly and delightfully filthy, desire clouding both of their thoughts too much to care.

They move slowly back toward the bed, still kissing, until Carlos' knees bump against the edge, and he collapses onto it, bringing Cecil with him. They shift so that their bodies are all the way on the mattress, at an odd diagonal angle, but the bed's large enough that it really doesn't matter. Cecil sits up, straddling Carlos, his hands running up and down the other man's chest, tracing lines of muscle and trails of dark hair. He finally, finally, gets to stroke Carlos' thick, gorgeous cock, and Cecil feels a heavy rush of lust that threatens to overwhelm him.

It doesn't last for long, though, because soon Carlos' hands are on Cecil's hips, thumbs pressing into the soft indent between his hipbones and his groin, and he rolls Cecil's hips so that their cocks rub together in a delicious downward arc.

Cecil loses himself entirely. If time hadn't already been non-existent in the self-contained universe of the casino, it's certainly been erased now, because all that exists is the perpetual cycle of his hips moving against Carlos', the perfect friction of their cocks rubbing together. They move slowly, deliberately, neither of them wanting to rush.

The heat builds slowly, like charcoal turning from black to white above a bed of flames, until Cecil can't hold himself back any longer, and he comes gasping Carlos' name over and over again, like a curse word, like a prayer. He breathes heavily for a moment, recovering, before Carlos flips them over and straddles one of Cecil's thighs. His eyelids fall shut and his head falls back as he rubs himself up and down Cecil's thigh, and Cecil thinks he's never seen anything quite so beautiful in his entire life.

Carlos comes shortly afterward, the most beautiful moan yet escaping his lips, and he rolls off of Cecil to lie by his side. Cecil reaches for him instinctively, pulling him close to cuddle, and it doesn't occur to him until a moment after he does it that maybe Carlos does not want this, that cuddling is, perhaps, not the M.O. for hooking up with a stranger in a hotel room.

But Carlos wraps his arm around Cecil's waist, and it feels so warm and nice that Cecil's worry evaporates with the touch. They lie there in silence, stroking each other gently as they bask in the afterglow.

After a while, Cecil speaks. "How long do you have this room for?"

"All night. I'm sorry if that's presumptuous, but…"

"Oh no," Cecil says hastily. "That's perfect."

"We should, um. Get cleaned up." 

They're a mess, the two of them, sticky white cum starting to dry on their chests and hips and stomachs. Carlos insists that Cecil not get up, brings a warm, wet towel from the bathroom and takes care of Cecil first before tending to himself. It's tender, intimate in a way that's different from the sex, gentle touches running up and down Cecil's body before drying him off with a second towel.

When they finish the cleanup, they crack open a bottle of wine from the hotel minibar, which Carlos assures him they will not have to pay extra for, and they drink pinot noir naked on an armchair in the corner, Cecil piled haphazardly into Carlos' lap. They don't bother with glasses, drinking straight out of the bottle like teenagers sneaking their parents' booze off to a park.

"This feels very clandestine," Carlos says.

"Yeah?"

"I can't say I've ever had sex in my place of work before."

"This isn't your place of work," Cecil points out. "It's above your place of work. If you were having sex in your place of work, it'd be on a blackjack table."

Carlos chuckles. "Fair enough." He leans in close to Cecil's ear. "I have to admit, there's a certain appeal to the idea of bending you over my table. I could whisper probabilities into your ear while I fucked you into ecstasy."

Cecil shudders. "Fuck, that sounds amazing." 

"Too bad the casino's open 24/7."

"Too bad."

They drink in silence for a moment.

"You know, they sell condoms and lube in the gift shop downstairs," Carlos says. "I can't bend you over my table, but I _could_ bend you over the bed."

"Where's the gift shop?" Cecil blurts.

Carlos laughs, full-bodied and warm. "Downstairs, to the right of the reception desk. You'll have to go. I'm not sure what my boss will say if she catches me buying condoms and lube forty-five minutes after my shift ended."

"That you're a Casanova."

"Mm. Or that I'm making ethically questionable workplace decisions."

"All right. I'll get them."

"Hurry back."

Reluctantly, Cecil gets up and gathers his clothes. He doesn't bother with underwear, as he suspects it'll just be removed again shortly. One T-shirt, one pair of jeans, and one pair of socks later, he's on his way down to the casino gift shop, heart pounding. It's bizarre walking casually among other hotel guests and casino visitors, as though nothing out of the ordinary has happened, when he's just had what might be the best sex of his life and is about to have even more. He thinks of Carlos, still naked in the dark hotel room, as he ventures to the far corner of the shop where the more salacious items are kept.

There are far too many types of condoms in the world, Cecil thinks, and not wanting to delay his getting back to Carlos for a moment longer than necessary, he chooses the box with the prettiest packaging without bothering to read the brand name. Fortunately the lube packets are limited to only a few options, and he grabs a couple of single-use packets, not sure exactly how many he'll need but secretly hoping it'll be more than one.

Cecil checks out without incident and practically jogs toward the elevators. When he returns to the room, Carlos is just where he left him, in the armchair in the corner, and he's touching himself slowly. The door slams shut.

They look at each other. Carlos doesn't stop what he's doing when Cecil makes eye contact; instead he smirks and runs his gaze up and down Cecil's body. Cecil swallows.

"Sorry. Couldn't help myself. Come here."

Cecil removes his clothing as he walks, stumbling a bit and nearly dropping his bag of recent purchases, but when he finds himself naked in Carlos' lap once again, it's completely worth the struggle.

"Hey there," Carlos says softly.

"Hey."

Cecil drops the bag on the floor and Carlos kisses him again. The kiss is lazy, sloppy even, but then, they've got all night. Carlos' hand makes its way Cecil's cock and the pumping of his wrist is slow and sumptuous. The wine is starting to go to Cecil's head and the pleasant haze of red wine fuses with the pleasurable haze of Carlos' touch, and the mixture is irresistible. Cecil feels drunk in every way a person can be, relaxed and giddy all at once.

Carlos' other hand, the one not on his cock, slides under Cecil's ass to rub wickedly between his cheeks. Cecil gasps.

"Ready to break out that lube?" Carlos asks.

Cecil almost falls over reaching for it.

"Bed," Carlos says for the second time that night, and Cecil thinks he could get used to the sound.

There's some awkward shuffling, but when they get to the bed, Carlos doesn't hesitate to press a hand to Cecil's back and, as promised, bend him over the mattress.

Cecil hears Carlos breathe deeply. "Wow," he says, and his voice is heavy with lust. "Cecil, this view is…you're gorgeous."

Cecil feels himself flushing. "High praise from someone as gorgeous as you."

Cecil hears the crinkle of packaging being ripped open and anticipation stirs somewhere in the bottom of his stomach. And then Carlos' fingertip is at his entrance, tracing slow, lazy circles, accompanied by the slick sensation of lube.

Carlos teases him for an agonizingly long time, playing with his cheeks and rubbing his thumb and fingers against his entrance, until Cecil is ready to beg for a finger inside him, but before he can, Carlos does exactly that. He slides his pointer finger in slowly, carefully, and the burn of it is barely noticeable. Carlos makes circling motions inside him, opening him up with a gentle firmness that has Cecil making deep, guttural sounds that seem to come from outside of him.

Carlos slides a second finger into him, and then he presses in deeper and finds Cecil's prostate, and Cecil can't help himself, he throws his head back in ecstasy and he swears his whole body vibrates with the groan he produces. Carlos laughs a little bit, softly, at his enthusiasm.

"Shut up," Cecil says, breathy.

"Never."

Cecil doesn’t bother to reply, especially because Carlos is making delicious scissoring motions inside him, and it isn't long before he adds a third finger and Cecil has to concentrate on his breathing to keep from finishing too quickly. 

"God, that's good," he moans.

"Just wait until it's my cock."

"Don't wanna wait," Cecil replies, incoherent in his overwhelming pleasure. "Fuck me now."

Carlos inhales quickly, betraying that for all his smooth words, he's just as desperate as Cecil is. "Don't have to tell me twice."

Carlos pulls his fingers out, and Cecil feels a tiny flash of loss, but he hears a condom wrapper opening, and when the tip of Carlos' cock presses up against his entrance, it's worth it a hundredfold.

"Ready?" Carlos whispers, and all Cecil can do is nod.

Carlos presses into him slowly, and it's _fantastic_ , it's divine, and when Carlos is finally fully inside him and he pauses for a moment to let Cecil adjust to the feeling, Cecil whines in protest, begging without words to be fucked into the mattress. Carlos takes the hint and begins thrusting in and out, no gentleness or patience this time, only a rough urgency as both of them come undone.

"Spank me," Cecil says suddenly, blushing at his own request, but Carlos asks no questions, only complies, and the sting of his hand on Cecil's ass combined with the fullness of Carlos' cock in his ass is exquisite and filthy all at once. All these contrasting sensations—pleasure and pain, heaven and sin, strangeness and intimacy—all rolled into one is almost too much to bear, but it is perfect, too, in the way that imperfection so often is. 

Carlos comes first, and this time, he says Cecil's name as he falls over the edge. It's almost enough to send Cecil there, too, but he tries to memorize the sound in case he never hears it again after tonight. After he's returned to himself, Carlos pulls out and gently tugs Cecil to standing, wraps one arm around his waist, and reaches his other hand around to pump Cecil's cock. It only takes a few strokes before Cecil comes in a messy splatter all over the rumpled comforter, his body slumped, weak, against Carlos' chest.

They stay like that for a moment, bodies pressed close together, breathing in unison, spent. The red numbers of the clock on the nightstand, the first marker of time Cecil's seen since he entered the casino, reads 2:32am. Cecil can't remember what time he and Josie arrived at the casino, hasn't the faintest idea how long it's been since Carlos offered to take him upstairs. Still, he can't deny the sleepiness, separate from the tiredness of physical exertion, rising from under his post-sex afterglow. He has to fight the temptation to shut his eyes and fall asleep right then and there, feeling cozy and protected and safe in the arms of a man he barely knows.

He wants to crawl into bed with Carlos, to fall asleep in his arms like newlyweds, but he has no idea if Carlos wants the same, if he booked this room for the entire night in anticipation of marathon sex rather than a night sleeping side by side. He doesn't know how to ask for this, thinks that maybe he shouldn't. Maybe all Carlos wanted was a night of casual sex, and requesting anything beyond that would be overstepping or creepy. Still, he had seemed just as eager to cuddle as Cecil had earlier…

"Do you want to go?" Carlos asks, breaking the silence.

Cecil's heart sinks. "Maybe I should. I mean, um…" He trails off, unsure what to say.

"I don't want you to."

Cecil's heart rises right back up, fluttering like a baby bird. What a hopeless romantic he is, he thinks. 

"I don't want to, either."

"Then stay." Carlos releases his waist and tosses aside the now-damp comforter, then ties up the condom and throws it in the trash. When he's finished, he sits on the bed, takes one of Cecil's hands, and tugs him down onto the sheets. Then Carlos reaches for him and pulls him tight into his arms. 

Cecil rests his forehead against the other man's, and Carlos kisses him, just once, just softly.

"Good night, Cecil," he murmurs, and the simple sweetness of the phrase almost makes Cecil tear up. 

"Good night, Carlos."

They fall asleep quickly, but before they do, Cecil can't help but note that he is the happiest he has felt in a long time.

 

Cecil wakes up groggy, the room still dark. The heavy curtains don't let in any light, further evidence of the total absence of time in the casino. Carlos is already up, sitting up in bed and scrolling through Twitter. He smiles when he sees Cecil stretching himself into consciousness.

"Hey, handsome," Carlos says, and Cecil blushes. "Good morning."

"What time is it?" Cecil asks, voice croaky with sleep.

"Just after ten," Carlos says. "Lucky for us, brunch goes until two. Casino goers are late sleepers."

Breakfast, Cecil thinks. Carlos wants to take him to breakfast. That, at least, is traditional with this sort of thing, although he suspects that toast and eggs across a kitchen table is more typical than casino brunch.

"Yes," Cecil says. "Yes. Coffee. Good."

Cecil is not a morning person. 

They shower separately, which is a little disappointing, but when Carlos steps out of the bathroom naked, his hair wet and smelling of honey lavender shampoo, Cecil can't feel anything but thrilled. Something about this nakedness, casual and comfortable, with no ulterior motive of sex, feels just as intimate as anything from the previous night. Cecil grabs his hips and pulls him in for a deep kiss.

"That was unexpected," Carlos says when they finally break apart.

"Everything about the last twelve hours has been unexpected," Cecil replies.

"True."

Cecil offers to pay for brunch—he does have $314 dollars in cash tucked into his wallet, after all–but Carlos gets the buffet for free, one of his best and most dangerous job perks, he tells Cecil, because all-you-can-eat pastries is not good for his waistline.

"Your waistline looks pretty good to me," Cecil says, and the woman at the register raises an eyebrow but says nothing.

As they walk into the buffet, something occurs to Cecil. "Won't the other employees see you down here with me?"

"Probably," Carlos says, and then he takes a deep breath. "But I'm hoping this won't be the last time they see me with you. And not just as a nighttime hookup."

They stand still and silent for a moment, although they're in a terrible place for it, blocking access to the soft serve machine. They don't make eye contact. Then Cecil puts a hand on Carlos' cheek.

"I'd like that."

Cecil's never been so giddy over brunch before, and even the fabulous cherry Danishes Carlos recommends can outshine the glorious promise of the future stretching out before him. They share smiles over plates of eggs and hash browns, just as they had over the poker table, and Cecil thinks it's a good thing blackjack doesn't require a poker face because he would be doomed to fail at Carlos' table every time.

Once they've cleared their plates, Carlos hands Cecil his phone.

"To put your number in," he says, and Cecil does. He hands his phone over, too, so Carlos can do the same.

Cecil has to drive home before work in the afternoon—the casino's a full half hour from where he lives, but Carlos says he lives in the same direction Cecil does, so they're only about ten minutes' drive from one another. 

"I'll call you soon," Carlos says after walking Cecil to his car.

Cecil kisses his cheek. "I'm holding you to that."

"Don't worry," Carlos says. "The odds are over 100%."

"That seems impossible."

"Who's the statistician here?"

Cecil laughs. "Fair enough."

"See you soon."

"Yes."

Cecil gets in his car and drives home grinning.

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly can't believe I researched fucking statistics for a piece of pornography but here we are. Shout out to Kev for putting up with me demanding he explain numbers to me. Also to [this neat calculator](http://wizardofodds.com/games/blackjack/hand-calculator/) for doing the actual math so I didn't have to.


End file.
